


The Christmas Spirit

by Abraxas



Category: To the Manor Born
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Christmas, Christmas Eve, Christmas Fluff, Christmas Party, F/M, Haunting, Humour, Romance, ghost story
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-12
Updated: 2020-01-06
Packaged: 2021-02-26 05:48:30
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 14,567
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21768637
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Abraxas/pseuds/Abraxas
Summary: Christmas at Grantleigh is set to be a memorable and joyous affair. But a series of strange occurrences lead Audrey and Richard to a direct encounter with a tragic event in the family history - and the realisation that the past may not be so far away after all.
Relationships: Richard DeVere/Audrey fforbes-Hamilton
Comments: 16
Kudos: 11





	1. Chapter One

**Author's Note:**

> I have been inspired by the wonderful Yuletide fics that have appeared lately! This is partly my contribution to the festive atmosphere, and partly a way of saying Thank You! to Steed73 and Inlovewithcomedy99 for their marvellous stories.
> 
> This story does contain some original characters I introduced in ‘The Long Way Home’.

_23 December_

What appeared to be an entire battalion of workmen swarmed through the venerable hallway of Grantleigh Manor, boots heavy on the floor, voices ringing against the marble. But cutting through all other noises were the penetrating tones of the lady of the manor.

Standing on top of a packing case, clipboard in her hand and an imperious expression on her face, Audrey fforbes-Hamilton directed the operation with a precision and command that would have been the envy of the combined heads of the armed forces.

From a discreet position of safety, Richard DeVere watched the proceedings with admiration not untempered by amusement. His enjoyment was marred, however, when an elbow was applied vigorously to his ribs.

‘Shouldn’t you be helping?’

Richard offered his assailant a withering look. ‘I am helping. I’m keeping out of the way.’

Sonia Thuyssen raised an expressive eyebrow. ‘Men have the weirdest ideas about what helpful means.’

‘Shows how much you know.’

Richard took a few steps forward. ‘Audrey!’

From her elevated position, Audrey made a ninety degree turn and looked at him. It was the same sort of look, Richard decided, that was probably worn by Field Marshall Montgomery when eyeing the Afrika Corps.

‘What is it?’

‘Anything I can do to help?’

Audrey’s chin raised half an inch, her eyes narrowing. ‘You can help by staying out of the way.’

Richard returned to Sonia with an air of triumph. ‘See?’

She rolled her eyes.

‘Audrey’s having a wonderful time,’ he told her. ‘There’s nothing she likes better than organising people.’

‘I bet she’d like a pair of Tiffany earrings more.’

‘Not every one can share your simple tastes.’

‘Beast.’

Putting an arm around her shoulders, Richard began steering his sister-in-law along the passage and stopped when they found Brabinger coming in the opposite direction. The butler was, as always, stately and impassive but there was something … _ruffled_ about his demeanour.

Richard had the unpleasant feeling that he knew the cause.

‘Brabinger.’

‘Sir?’

‘Everything all right?’

A characteristically beatific smile curled the corners of his mouth. ‘Indeed, sir.’

‘Really?’

‘Yes, sir.’

‘ _Really_?’

A pause. ‘Yes, sir.’

‘You haven’t been set upon by, say, a pair of young brigands?’

Brabinger’s eyes widened. ‘Indeed not, sir.’

Sonia groaned. ‘Oh God. What are they doing now?’

The butler offered her a reassuring smile. ‘Master James and Master Thomas are entertaining themselves, madam.’

‘How?’

‘They are practicing their bowling, madam, in the ballroom.

‘Bowling?!’ Sonia’s voice cracked.

Eyes alight with amusement, Richard gave her shoulders a reassuring squeeze. ‘They do know it isn’t cricket season?’

Brabinger inclined his head. ‘They do, sir. But their argument is that it is summer in Australia and we will never win the Ashes if we only practice for half a year.’

‘Sound logic,’ Richard said, his voice shaking.

‘They can’t play indoor cricket,’ Sonia stated firmly. ‘Where’s Michael, anyway?’

The butler cleared his throat. ‘Mister Thuyssen is acting as wicket keeper.’

‘Oh, for-’ Sonia cut herself off, muttering under her breath in Czech.

‘And what were you acting as?’ Richard asked.

‘I was fielding, sir.’

Richard threw back his head and laughed delightedly. ‘Wonderful.’

‘Richard, it isn’t funny!’ Her lips twitched. ‘Okay, it’s a bit funny…’

‘Thanks, Brabinger.’

Brabinger inclined his head and drifted into the hall; Richard resumed their walk along the passage. ‘I have noticed,’ he said after a moment, ‘that the only words you know in Czech are all of the bad ones.’

‘Remind me again what’s the Czech for pot, kettle and black…’

Richard grimaced. ‘Yes, all right.’

‘Is Brabinger really going to keep on calling the boys Master Thomas and Master James?’

He glanced down at her. ‘Making you uncomfortable?’

‘It is really freaking me out.’

Richard laughed again and they headed towards the ballroom.

Brabinger had continued across the hall, casting an affectionate glance at Audrey who was clearly in her element. After such a prolonged period of uncertainty (and times when it seemed that Audrey and Mr DeVere would never keep a truce long enough to get on with the far more important business of falling in love with each other), this Christmas promised to be one of the most joyous in memory.

Had Audrey known what was in Brabinger’s mind, she would have agreed. From her post on top of the packing case, everything was taking shape exactly as she had envisioned. The Grantleigh Christmas Eve Party had always been a grand occasion and Audrey had always been a generous hostess. Even when on her uppers, she had always tried to be generous. This year her generous impulses were not only matched but surpassed by Richard’s extravagant approach to– Well, just about everything. She had, playfully, wondered just how many outrageous suggestions she could make before he would finally say no but had realised, before she had even made one, that he would not say no to any request she made.

Partly out of his own generous nature, partly out of a desire to make her happy in any and every way he could, and partly as a result of the severe deprivations of his own childhood. He had worked his way to a position where he could afford to be indulgent and so he was; and while there was a liberating novelty in having money as no object, Audrey was not about to take advantage of that. After all of their battles, misunderstandings and so much time spent second-guessing one another, after everything they had gone through, she was determined that they would be together on equal terms.

Audrey took another look at her clipboard and ticked off the final item. Replacing the cap on her pen – a satisfying click – she looked at the faces turned expectantly towards her and nodded once.

‘Well, that’s it for now. There are mince pies and various refreshments in the kitchen.’

A murmur of approval ran through the crowd and the men made their way across the hall towards the stairs that led down to the kitchen.

Audrey stepped down off her box and looked around the hallway, stretching out her arms and shoulders. The air held the clean scent of pine, boughs lying across the mantelpiece and twined around the lengths of the bannisters. Fairy lights twinkled, holly berries and poinsettia glowed deep red against their dark green backgrounds.

Even the occasional bunch of mistletoe was lurking in discreet spots.

The Christmas spirit, Audrey decided, was officially in residence, aided in no small part by the presence of Richard’s extended family. Sonia, her husband, their sons and their dog had brought with them a chaotic exuberance that somehow made Grantleigh feel more of a home than the presence of her own relatives would have done. Mrs Poo’s gentleman caller, Ferdy, had been invited to stay at the manor rather than make the repeated journeys back and forth from Marlbury; add to that Marjory, the Brigadier…

Family, Audrey thought; and just when she had almost got herself used to the fact of not really having one.

Audrey bent to adjust one of the baubles hanging from the tree, straightened, stepped back to judge the effect and almost collided with the man standing behind her.

‘Oh!’

One of the seasonal workers. A dark-haired, noticeably handsome young man with a rather disconcerting way of looking at you as though he weren’t really seeing you.

‘John, isn’t it?’ Audrey asked.

‘It is, my lady, at your service.’ A slow, slightly husky voice with an Irish lilt.

Audrey laughed slightly. ‘Not “my lady”, John. Just plain Mrs fforbes-Hamilton.’

‘Not for much longer, is my understanding. You’re to be married soon, I hear.’

‘Yes, that’s right.’ It came out a little sharper than she had intended.

A faint smile touched the corners of his mouth. ‘I meant no disrespect, ma’am. Only congratulations to the both of you. He seems a fine gentleman.’

Audrey couldn’t stop her own smile then, the softening of her features that always happened when she thought about Richard (that had happened, long before she was aware of it herself). ‘Yes, he is.’

‘I wish you happiness, ma’am. All the happiness in the world. It’s a grand thing, to be married to the person of your choosing.’ His eyes seemed to focus on her then, as though seeing her for the first time. There was something in his gaze that burned.

‘Yes. Thank you.’

A portion of fairy lights slipped from a branch and Audrey, with a curious sense of relief, turned to fix it. ‘You should join the others downstairs. I’m sure you’ll be glad of a- Oh.’

She was alone in the hallway. For a moment, Audrey looked at the empty air and then shook herself. She could do with a cup of tea herself, she thought. A few steps forward and her feet slipped. Righting herself before she took a painful tumble, Audrey studied the floor-

‘Oh, really!’

-and the puddle she had just stepped in.

‘It’s not as though we don’t have doormats…’ she grumbled.

Once the puddle had been dealt with, and a housemaid instructed on the evils of water dripping onto marble – or any – floors, Audrey went in search of that fine gentleman who was the man of her choosing.


	2. Chapter Two

Audrey’s search took her, initially, to the ballroom. A scene of joyous pandemonium had greeted her. The cricket game had reached its highly competitive final stages and was not particularly enhanced by Bertie and his new playmate, Ludo, barking wildly and trying to run off with the cricket balls.

Richard, however, was conspicuous by his absence and after some prompting, Sonia recalled some talk about the estate office.

A hard frost had set in with the lowering sun, and under a clear sky and chilly moon the fields gleamed silver as Audrey cut across the footpaths. It was eerily beautiful. She watched her breath spiralling white on the frigid air.

The lights of the estate office glinted against the gloom and Audrey pushed open the door, fully expecting to find Richard enjoying a drink with Spalding and Hawkins or playing one of those ridiculous games on the computer that he seemed to like so much.

Instead, he was at the desk, dark head bent over an array of papers. A coffee mug was at his elbow and Audrey watched as he straightened, eyes still fixed on his papers, picked up the mug, took a mouthful and grimaced.

‘You’ve let it go cold again.’

Richard looked up, a frown, and then his face cleared. ‘Audrey. Have you finished already?’

‘I finished ages ago.’

Another frown. ‘Did you? What time is it?’ Richard looked at his watch. ‘Huh. You didn’t have to come all the way out here to fetch me – you could have rung.’ He tapped the telephone.

‘Hm, yes.’ Audrey nodded her head. ‘And I know exactly what would have happened if I’d done that: you’d have hung up and gone straight back to work.’ She crossed the room to him, perched on the edge of the desk and cast a beady eye over the spread of papers. ‘What are you doing, anyway?’

‘Crop yield projections. And an order for Alfa separators.’ Amusement flared in his eyes. ‘As sexy as it sounds.’

‘You don’t need to be doing that now, surely? It’s almost Christmas.’

‘Well,’ Richard leaned back in his chair, ‘farming, as you well know, doesn’t stop for festivities. And when one is attuned to the rhythms of the earth-’

‘Oh, shut up.’

Richard laughed and caught hold of her hands. ‘I wanted to get them out of the way so we can enjoy the party. How is the old place looking?’

He was deliberately maddening at times. Audrey pressed her lips together for a moment, saw the challenge in his expression and decided to rise above it. ‘Wonderful, if I do say so myself.’

‘No-one can organise a party quite like you.’

Audrey considered this. ‘Why do I get the feeling that all this flattery is concealing an ulterior motive?’

Richard spread his hands in appeal. ‘Would I do something like that?’

‘Yes,’ his beloved replied bluntly.

‘Yes, you’re probably right,’ Richard admitted. ‘But even when I do have an ulterior motive, it doesn’t mean the flattery is misplaced. And I have no ulterior motives. At present. You’ve been working terribly hard to make everything wonderful, and it is.’

‘Yes, well…’ It was ridiculous how she experienced a thrum of pleasure behind her ribs and felt warmth creeping across her cheeks at his words. She had always been accustomed to taking praise as her due and then Richard Devere had come along and for the first time in her life she had wanted to earn someone’s good opinion rather than simply expect to have it.

‘Sonia thinks you’d sooner have some Tiffany earrings than spend your time arranging everything.’

‘Oh?’ Was it greedy to want both? she wondered.

‘I’m afraid I didn’t quite make it to Tiffany’s,’ Richard continued, pulling open a drawer and extracting a small box in a distinctive deep red.

‘Oh, Richard… You _shouldn’t_ have!’

‘In that case, I can take it back.’

‘Don’t you dare!’ Audrey took the box from his hand. And then stopped. ‘It’s too soon for Christmas presents.’

‘It isn’t your Christmas present. It’s for putting up with my family and for everything you’ve done the last few weeks.’

Audrey studied the lines of his face and gave in to the urge to brush a comma of dark hair away from his forehead. ‘I’m happy to do it,’ she said softly. He caught hold of her hand, pressed her fingers against his lips.

‘I know. And I appreciate it. And then I was walking past Cartier and this practically threw itself at me.’

_It_ was a slender bracelet of alternating diamonds and sapphires. Under the light from the desk lamp they glittered against their silk nest. Richard placed it around her wrist, securing the clasp. ‘There, it even fits.’

‘It’s beautiful,’ she said softly. When she raised her eyes to his her face was solemn. ‘You don’t have to spend all of your money on me.’

Richard considered this. ‘You either have a wildly inflated idea of the value of diamonds or a very poor opinion of the state of my bank balance.’

‘You know what I mean!’ Eyes flashing as deep and blue as the jewels around her wrist.

‘I know.’ Richard took her face in his hands, his thumbs caressing the line of her jaw. ‘But I’m happy to do it. Besides, I can’t think of a more pleasant way of spending money.’

Audrey let out a breath. ‘How you managed to amass millions is beyond me. You seem to have no restraint whatsoever.’

Amusement and mischief sparked bright in his eyes. ‘Is that a complaint?’

‘I didn’t say _that_ …’

He laughed again, kissing her and she responded to his warmth, twining her arms around his neck. It was easy to kiss him, love him, more than easy to let herself be lost in his love for her. But there were guests at the manor and they were supposed to be the hosts.

Not to mention the shocking draft that shivered against the back of her neck.

‘Come on,’ she murmured, extricating herself reluctantly. ‘The men will have finished their tea, and it’s long past time we had ours.’

Grumbling acquiescence, Richard retrieved his coat and scarf.

‘I was talking to one of them once they’d finished. That young man, John.’

‘Ah, the one who has a crush on you,’ Richard said, successfully locating his gloves in a pocket.

Audrey snorted. ‘Don’t be ridiculous.’

‘It isn’t ridiculous at all – sign of extremely good taste on his part.’ Richard got hold of her again, his arms sliding around her waist. ‘Just as long as you don’t start crushing back.’

She rolled her eyes. ‘You really are the most absurd person. Besides, you’re the one he thinks highly of: he said you’re a fine gentleman.’

‘Like I said, extremely good taste.’

‘Oh..!’ Anything else was lost against his lips on hers.

‘Absurd.’ Her voice was barely a whisper.

They parted again and Richard pulled on his gloves.

Audrey’s head tilted and she frowned slightly. ‘There is something slightly … off … about him, though.’

Richard looked up sharply. ‘Did he say something to you?’

‘Oh no, nothing like that. He was very polite, actually, just a bit…’

Relaxing slightly, Richard nodded. ‘He used to be a soldier, I think. Probably explains it; half of those poor devils seem to come back not quite right.’

Audrey’s lips thinned, sudden anger kindling. ‘It’s a disgrace. Young men sent out to God knows where to do God knows what and then flung out on the scrap heap afterwards. We should do something to help that boy.’

‘The Brigadier-’

‘Oh, now there’s the Christmas spirit for you!’ Her eyes were snapping. ‘A veteran turns up at Grantleigh and you want to farm him out to the Brigadier! Honestly, Richard, I’m surprised at you!’

Richard breathed heavily down his nose, counted to what felt like three thousand and then said levelly: ‘The Brigadier is in touch with a lot of veteran’s charities, he’s probably the best person to ask for advice.’

‘Oh.’

Richard looked at her pointedly. ‘And if John doesn’t want our help, we can’t force him to take it.’

Audrey nodded. ‘No, of course, you’re right.’

His eyes widened fractionally. ‘I’m what?’

She glared at him. ‘You are detestable.’

‘That’s more like it,’ he said tenderly, taking her arm. 

It was a companionable walk back to the manor. With Richard’s arm around her shoulders, his warmth enveloping her, Audrey felt sheltered, protected, in a way she never had before. He was more than her dearest friend and her lover; he was her partner in every sense and she adored him. He looked at her suddenly, as though he knew what she had been thinking, studied her, raised one gloved hand to caress her face, fine leather soft against her skin.

He kissed her, his lips warm against hers and he murmured her name as though it were something sacred.

They walked on, the countryside white under the frost and rising moon.

Audrey looked up at the bulk of the manor, its lights spilling out into the darkness and sighed happily. Only a few months before and life had been a constant anxiety and longing for the things – the person – that seemed so close and yet forever out of reach. That she should now have everything she had ever wanted- More, Audrey thought. And after everything, if she had to choose between Grantleigh and Richard… She laid her head on his shoulder.

And then raised it again.

‘Who’s that?’

‘Hm? What? Where?’

‘There. On the roof.’ Movement. A pale figure against the chimney stack, perilously close to the edge.

Richard frowned up at the manor. ‘I can’t see anything.’

‘There was someone there,’ Audrey insisted.

His arm tightened around her, reassuring. ‘Probably one of the boys. They’re determined to find a secret tunnel somewhere in the manor.’

Audrey smiled slightly against a feeling of unease. ‘Yes, probably.’ A pause. ‘They’re nice children.’

‘You say that now – just wait until they have Grantleigh crashing down about our ears.’

She raised her eyebrows. ‘Is that why you spoil them so much?’

‘I…’ His indignation was of a short duration. ‘Well. It’s an uncle’s prerogative.’

Audrey nodded wisely. ‘Oh…’

Richard clearly loved his nephews as much as they idolised him. And he really did indulge their every whim. He’d be a wonderful father. A conversation that they had not had but probably should. But not tonight, Audrey thought, her head again on his shoulder as they walked across the lawn, frosted grass scrunching beneath their feet.

When they regained the entry hall of the manor, they were greeted by a near-explosion of family life. Bertie, closely followed by Ludo, flew across to them, paws scrabbling to find purchase on the marble floor, before they both made it, both rearing up for ear scratches and belly rubs.

Marjory and the Brigadier had joined the assembly during Audrey’s foray to the estate office; the old soldier was clearly becoming a hit with Sonia’s sons by demonstrating assorted batting techniques. Sonia herself, in a rare moment of quiet, was watching them with an indulgent air.

‘Sonia.’ Audrey touched her elbow.

The brunette turned, grinned at her, her eyes slipping past her to Richard and back again. ‘You found him.’

‘Yes.’ Audrey, unthinking, brushed her hair out of her eyes; sapphirine sparks glittered about her wrist at the movement. Sonia caught hold of her hand, inspecting the bracelet.

‘Ooh, new?’

‘Yes.’

Sonia nodded approvingly. ‘It’s lovely.’

Audrey smiled, her face softening completely as she gazed at the shimmering stones and recalled the tender moments in the estate office. She took a breath, bringing herself back to the present. ‘Look, I... ‘I think one of the boys was on the roof just before, and-‘

Sonia rolled her eyes. ‘If they’ve broken anything, it’s coming out of their pocket money. And they’re already in debt on that score.’

Audrey considered that for a moment and then shook it off. ‘It isn’t that. It’s just that it’s dangerous up there; they could get badly hurt. I wouldn’t want anything to happen to them.’

Their affectionate mother nodded sympathetically. ‘Oh, don’t worry about it too much. As long as they’re still alive at the end of the day.’ She flashed Audrey a smile. ‘I know that sounds as though I’m setting the maternal bar pretty low but you don’t have to live with them.’

Audrey couldn’t help but laugh at that and watched as Sonia crossed the hallway to round up her offspring.

Voices bounced around the walls, the rush of different conversations and laughter. It was the sort of Christmas she remembered as a child and had never quite managed to capture. But this year, everything would be perfect. And for the first time in her life she would actually have someone by her side who would help her keep it that way. With a sigh of contentment, Audrey started forwards and-

‘For heaven’s sake!’

She felt her feet go from under her, starting to fall, and then Richard’s strong hands on her shoulders holding her up.

‘Are you all right? What happened?’ His eyes, clouded with concern, raked her face.

Audrey, exasperated, gestured expansively. ‘That puddle happened! It’s the second time today!’

‘It can’t be the roof.’ Richard frowned up the ceiling but no enlightenment was forthcoming.

‘All I am asking is that people wipe their feet before traipsing through the manor! Brabinger!’

Responding to the peremptory summons with equanimity, the butler glided across to Audrey’s side.

‘Tea is ready in the drawing room, madam.’

‘Look at this!’

Brabinger looked down at the offending body of water and a delicate shudder of disapproval ran through him. Audrey began the same speech she had already delivered to the unfortunate housemaid, but found in Brabinger a far more receptive audience.

As far as Richard was concerned, it was an extremely minor domestic incident and one of approximately zero interest. Still, it did seem to be a lot more water than just someone forgetting to wipe their indoor shoes. Now that he actually looked at it, there was a trail of water. But it wasn’t coming from the front door, rather it led to the door that accessed the cellars. As though someone who was very wet had come from there and then stood in the hallway for a time.

Curiouser and curiouser, he thought.

Like the rest of the manor, the cellars were vast and, like most of the manor had been, in a marked state of disrepair. Apart from the wine cellar, which seemed to be the only part of Grantleigh that the late and very unlamented Marton fforbes-Hamilton had invested in. As far as Richard could recall, the hall door led down to a lot of mildew, an old well shaft and a general sense of decay. He had, at one point, considered converting that section into a games arcade for the sole purpose of seeing the look of horror on Audrey’s face.

That had been early on in his residence at Grantleigh, though. And in the end he had never decided on a satisfactory course of action.

Richard tried the door. It was still locked. If anything, it looked as though it had been painted shut during the last renovations. The doorknob was ice cold to the touch, almost slimy. There was water on the floor just in front of it.

He heard Audrey calling him. With Brabinger now overseeing a small flock of staff, Audrey’s good humour was restored. Her eyes were dancing again, her smile inviting and Richard promptly dismissed the mystery of the cellar door and followed her to the drawing room.


	3. Chapter Three

With curtains drawn against the frigid December afternoon and the attendant gloom, the drawing room of Grantleigh Manor was an oasis of warmth and colour. An abundant supply of wood kept the fire built high, lamplight glowed gold, and the remnants of an excellent tea were scattered across plates and cups.

Jamie – or Master James, in Brabinger’s parlance – broke off from an excited account of how the Brigadier had taught them to bowl a googly and fixed his uncle with large eyes.

‘Uncle Richard, are there really ghosts here?’

‘Of course not,’ Richard replied, with what he fondly believed would be a reassuring and definite end to the matter. He was wrong.

The little boy looked crestfallen. ‘Oh. Aunt Marjory said that there were.’

Marjory, suddenly aware of the short exchange and even more aware of the pair of accusing dark eyes staring at her, swallowed the last of her scone and coughed against the crumbs that caught in her throat. Her voice rose on a defensive, slightly wavering note: ‘I just told them about the ghost of the murdered knight of the Crusades who lives in the woods.’

‘Oh, _honestly_!’ Audrey looked at her friend, appalled.

Richard, not for the first time, felt a genuine gratitude for his fiancée’s level-headed pragmatism.

‘A ghost can hardly _live_ anywhere. Besides, if you want real ghosts you’ll find them here in the manor.’

Then again…

Maria Polouvicka waved her hands theatrically, her eyes fluttering. ‘There is a saying in old Czechoslovakia: you should not talk of spirits – you never know if they are listening.’

‘They’re not listening,’ Richard said. ‘There’s no such thing as ghosts.’

A hand was pressed over her heart and Maria leaned back in her seat; it was a performance, Richard thought, that would have been the envy of many a stage actress. In the nineteenth century. ‘I have heard ghosts right here,’ Maria declared firmly. ‘I have heard knocking sounds. In the walls.’

There was a flash of amusement in the gaze that Richard turned on his mother. ‘That’s the plumbing.’

‘And terrible wailing,’ Maria continued, undeterred.

Richard suppressed a smile. ‘Still the plumbing. Anyway, you’re not supposed to believe in ghosts: you’re meant to be a good Catholic.’

Her eyes widened, horror and indignation chasing across her face. She addressed the gathering as a whole: ‘Do you hear how he speaks to his poor old mother? I am a very good Catholic – which is more than can be said for you! Oh…’ Her hands clasped together. ‘The novenas I have had said for your soul…’

‘That’s eternal damnation on the cards for you, my boy,’ Sonia told him, her voice low and confiding.

‘I go to church every Sunday,’ he replied, adding a touch of smugness to his tone. ‘I even read the lesson.’

‘No-one likes a show-off, Richard.’

Audrey was frowning, puzzled. ‘I thought the Catholic Church still has exorcists.’

‘Oh, it does,’ Richard said airily. ‘But that’s for demonic possession. We’re fine with demons, but draw the line at ghosts.’

‘That’s ridiculous!’

‘Yes,’ he said slowly. ‘That’s because it’s all ridiculous.’

‘Base I was stationed at during the war had ghosts,’ the Brigadier put in. At his ease in one of the large armchairs by the fire, he leaned back, cradling his glass of sherry and clearly in a reminiscent mood.

‘See what you’ve started?’ Richard told Jamie. The little boy grinned up at him and then turned eagerly to the Brigadier.

‘There was the ghost of a sergeant major used to haunt the parade ground – you could hear him bellowing out orders at all times of the night.’

Probably after closing time at the officer’s mess, Richard thought – but wisely kept that to himself.

‘Then there was the bugler,’ the Brigadier continued. ‘Poor blighter from the Napoleonic wars. Looked like he’d been run through.’

‘With a bayonet?’ Tom asked, eyes gleaming. ‘Was he covered in blood?’

‘You bloodthirsty horror,’ Sonia said, looking at her eldest son with distaste.

‘He _was_ covered in blood!’ The Brigadier nodded happily. ‘And mud from the battlefield. Also had a big gash across his forehead, bloodied bandages wrapped around his head. Still summoning the charge, though.’

‘A spirit with spirit,’ Richard murmured. Audrey glared at him reproachfully.

Ferdynand Wiśniewski, sitting beside Maria, was nodding gravely at the Brigadier’s words. ‘There were spirit visitations at our airbase,’ he said in his precise English.

Maria gazed at him tragically. ‘Oh, Ferdy, no!’

He nodded and gave her clasped hands a reassuring pat. ‘But yes. There was an entire ground crew used to make ready an aeroplane. From the Great War, I believe.’

As Ferdy was telling his tale, Audrey regarded her intended with growing incredulity. ‘I can’t believe you! Ghost stories are a tradition at Christmas.’

He blinked at her, and wondered if it were too early to swap out the sherry for whiskey. A large one.

‘And they’re so romantic!’ Marjory added, her blonde curls fluttering as she spoke.

‘Romantic?! Where, exactly, is the romance in someone being bayoneted to death somewhere in the nineteenth century?’

‘Yes, well, perhaps not that one,’ Marjory agreed. ‘But there are famous hauntings at the manor,’ she added, rallying.

‘Indeed there are, sir.’ Brabinger replenished the sherry in Richard’s glass and did his best to ignore the reproachful look that was sent his way.

‘Et tu, Brabinger?’

The flicker across the butler’s face was almost apologetic. ‘Most of the Grantleigh ghosts are confined to specific spots. But there is the ghost of one of my predecessors and he wanders all over the manor, as would befit a spirit of his rank. He does, however, have a particular aversion for young gentlemen who are out of their beds after the lights have gone out.’ He addressed himself to Tom and Jamie, who gazed at him, rapt, their eyes wide. ‘In fact, during the time that Mrs fforbes-Hamilton’s father was a boy, one of his cousins went roaming through the house one night and was never heard of again.’

‘See?’ Sonia told her awe-struck sons. ‘If you go wandering about where you shouldn’t, the ghost will get you.’

* * *

Far below the reception rooms and the main hall with its tree and decorations, something stirred. The manor had closed down for the night, doors and windows bolted against intruders and the cold winter air.

So long down in the cold and the dark. It took so long to find the way out and even then it was still all too easy to lose the way.

Warmth now, in these rooms. Not from the banked-down fires and rich furnishings; something in the very air of the place had changed and so finally, finally, there was space to break though.

A figure stood in the great hallway. Ragged, worn, chilled down the bone and so very, very tired. Difficult to find the way and always ending up in the same spot. Clothes still holding freezing water, dripping onto the floor.

But a change had come; against all hope, it had come, unexpectedly; a return to warmth and light and love.

* * *

Audrey had taken her time arranging and rearranging her hair, enjoying the luxurious surrounds of the master bathroom that adjoined the bedroom. As with just about every other room in the manor, it was in a far better condition now than when she had moved out.

Hot water that was actually hot. Taps that didn’t stick, neither did they drip. Pipes that did not emit howls like the souls of the damned.

It was as opulent as she had come to expect from Richard DeVere and she appreciated every fitting and fixture.

She also appreciated the fully functioning and highly effective heating system that meant it was no longer necessary to be swathed from neck to ankle in flannelette in a bid to avoid frostbite in one’s extremities.

Audrey turned off the light and then paused on the threshold, even more appreciative of the sight that greeted her. Richard reclined across the bed, absorbed in a book, his dark hair still damp from his shower and curling slightly at his neck. Pyjama bottoms and a silk dressing gown he hadn’t bothered tying. Exposed skin gleamed bronze in the lamplight. She caught herself sighing softly, feeling that peculiar sensation, like something melting behind her ribs, that happened an awful lot when she was with him. Or even just thought about him. After so much time spent fighting her feelings for him, it still felt indulgent sometimes to allow them to overtake her. But it was a very easy thing to do.

He turned a page, his expression increasingly bemused, and Audrey had a sudden jolt of realisation that the cover of his chosen tome looked horribly familiar.

‘What are you reading?’ Her tone was sharp.

Richard raised his eyes to her, paused for a moment, taking in the fine silk and lace that floated around her slim figure. ‘It isn’t a ghost story, I can tell you that.’

Audrey’s lips pushed together, thinning. ‘I know we’re living together, but that doesn’t give you the right to go rooting through my belongings!’

His gaze was lazy and amused. ‘You left it, in full view, on the bedside table.’

A breath escaped her lips a little too fast. ‘It’s Marjory’s,’ she said quickly.

‘Oh?’ He flicked through to the flyleaf. ‘I had no idea that Marjory’s initials are A-f-f-H.’

Damn.

Richard returned to the pages he had been studying. ‘I also had no idea that women’s fiction was so… Well, _so._ I’m shocked to the very core.’

Audrey clambered onto the bed with less elegance than she had envisioned while still primping in front of the bathroom mirror. ‘It’s just a romance novel,’ she huffed.

‘Very gratuitous romance.’

‘Oh, it is not!’ She could feel her cheeks burning.

His eyebrows rose. ‘It’s pornographic.’

‘It’s not that bad,’ she insisted.

Richard observed her for a moment, then cleared his throat and started to read. ‘His hands moved to the front of her blouse, caressing her firm breasts through the silken fabric…’

Audrey was very familiar with those particular passages. They had given rise to numerous extremely vivid fantasies, where the starring role had, invariably, been given to the gentleman currently reading them aloud.

‘…traced the contours down her back…’

She had read those words so many times before-

‘…his mouth on her…’

-but hearing them spoken in her fiancé’s rich, mellow voice was a wholly new experience. Fantasy was comprehensively surpassed by memory. Not even her wildest imaginings had prepared her for the glorious reality of actually making love with him.

‘…trailed fingers up the sensitive skin of her inner thigh…’

Was this what addicts felt? she wondered. This deep craving. A hunger that no-one in the world could satisfy but him.

‘…she sighed with pleasure…’

Audrey drank him in, her eyes lingering over the lines of his face. And then he raised his gaze to hers and that lazy amusement had been replaced by a darker, wilder glint.

‘Not going to lie: this is very arousing.’

The blush that had been burning her cheeks spread down her neck. Audrey made a grab for the book. ‘Give me that!’ He moved away from her, holding it beyond her reach.

‘I’m not finished yet. I don’t think this can be done – not unless the fellow has three hands.’

Audrey sat back on her knees. ‘What?’

Richard flourished the book, pages rifling in the air. ‘The logistics of this don’t make much sense. Admittedly, the overall, uh… _action_ is somewhat distracting, but even so.’

‘I don’t think it’s supposed to be an instruction manual.’ She was aiming to be acerbic but that was clearly lost on Richard. He regarded her severely.

‘And only last week the rector’s sermon was all about how we can give back to the community.’

She stared at him and it was only with an effort that she prevented her jaw from dropping. ‘I don’t think he meant _this_!’

Richard let out a breath, shaking his head. ‘That is such a selfish response. There must be legions of women whose expectations are being set very high by this sort of thing – not to mention the men who are expected to live up to them – and here we are, in the perfect position to- Well, not quite perfect, you’ll probably have to lie back… There, that’s better. What was I saying?’

From her cocoon of pillows, Audrey looked up at him. ‘The perfect position.’

‘Hm?’ His gaze travelled over her. ‘Ah, yes. The perfect position to test this. It will be our gift to humanity.’

Laughter bubbled up. ‘You really are the most outrageous person.’

His eyes glittered, desire clear in their dark depths. ‘The best people always are. Now,’ he consulted the book, ‘I’m supposed to put one hand here… And the other one goes here-’

Audrey let out a yelp. Richard looked at her with mild concern.

‘That’s not the reaction I was led to expect.’

‘Well, it’s the only one you’re getting if you do that again.’

He frowned at the pages. ‘I think I may have missed a step.’

‘Oh, give that to me!’ She made another grab for the book.

‘Yes, it probably will help if you hold it.’

‘I’m not- Oh, all right.’

‘Now, if I…’

Audrey sucked in a breath, her eyes widening.

‘And then…’

‘Oh…’

‘Hm.’

‘What?’ Slightly breathless. ‘What’s wrong?’

‘Apparently, I’m also supposed to have one hand _there_.’

Considering their respective positions, Audrey could see the difficulty. ‘Oh. Perhaps it should be my hand?’

His eyebrows raised slightly. ‘I hadn’t thought of that. Let me see.’ He read the next few lines silently and then shook his head. ‘No, see?’

Audrey turned her head, read the indicated paragraph.

‘Well, I can’t do that _and_ hold the book.’

‘I knew it!’ Richard said, triumphant. ‘The fellow has three hands. Now, is that fair?’

‘Fair?’

‘Well, there he is, inducing untold pleasure in every female he meets-’

‘Just the one, they get married in the end.’

‘-and he has three hands. How are we mere two-handed mortals supposed to live up to that?’

Audrey raised one eyebrow. ‘You seem to do all right.’

‘Oh well.’ Richard tossed the book over his shoulder; she heard it land with a thud somewhere on the floor. He settled over her, hands either side of her head, stroking her hair. Audrey felt his weight against her and she stretched herself under him, revelling in the feel of the length of his body on hers. ‘Looks like I’ll just have to improvise.’

‘Something else you’re good at,’ she murmured, sliding her hands around him, pushing the dressing-gown away from his broad shoulders. His fingers danced against her skin, tracing a line along the sloping plane beneath her collar bone-

And then it was Richard’s turn to catch his breath.

‘Just improvising,’ Audrey murmured innocently up at him.

A quirk of a smile and then he caught her lips with his.


	4. Chapter Four

_24 December_

‘Sorry about the conga line, Rector,’ Richard said cheerfully. It felt like it was the same apology that was made at every gathering at some point. This time the line of revellers had burst through the hallway, interrupting the rector’s monologue on some ecclesiastical point or other that Brigadier Lemington was not really listening to. Seeing the conga line as a means of escape, the old soldier had grasped Marjory firmly by the waist and followed the line into the library.

The rector smiled politely, if a little stiffly. ‘Not at all. Tonight is probably not the time for a religious debate. Although, being Christmas Eve I would argue that there should be time for contemplation.’

‘Indeed,’ Richard said firmly. ‘Absolutely. I won’t interrupt your, uh, contemplation.’

He made a swift exit before the rector could make him his next victim, snagging a much-needed glass of champagne off a tray as he went and headed for the drawing room. That normally serene space was filled to capacity. Sipping his champagne, Richard cast an eye about the room and soon found Audrey, clearly enjoying what looked like a very entertaining conversation with Michael and Sonia. She really was looking radiant, he thought.

Richard had a healthy appreciation for female fashion but would be the first to admit that he knew nothing about it. Audrey’s new dress (he was fairly certain it was new) was a particularly flattering shade of deep blue, floor length and … _swishy_. Its almost severe lines were offset by the full sleeves, tight bodice and the deep V of the neckline. Her hair was swept up, exposing the elegant lines of her neck. Altogether it was a combination of the austere and the tantalising that he found extraordinarily provocative and would have had no compunction in telling her so, had they not been surrounded by about two hundred of their closest friends. Acquaintances.

He glanced around again.

Just who _were_ all of these people?

With Audrey happily engrossed, Richard made his way to the french windows and stepped out onto the terrace. The cold air was a welcome refresher after the heat of the reception rooms. Putting down his now empty glass, Richard pulled out of his pocket what he considered to be a well-earned cigar, lit it, and enjoyed a few moments of utter peace. Light and laughter spilled out onto the night air but the fragile glass doors afforded something of a barrier. He was a sociable person by nature but he still welcomed the opportunity for a little breathing space. After her exile at the lodge, Audrey was determined to make this a Christmas of legend; it was also, he knew, her desire to give him personally the most traditional of English Christmases and he wouldn’t deny her a single one of her pleasures.

The cigar smoke, combining with frosted breath, formed spiralling patterns in the air. He watched them for a time.

Christmases, in his experience, had always been relatively low key. Sonia and Michael dutifully spent every other year with his family; their London-based ones largely consisted of Sonia feeding everyone to death. On the years they were away, and with so little family of their own, he and Anna had always booked into a hotel. Christmas Eve spent in the West End, sometimes a party; and the day itself always included Anna’s Christmas Day meal of choice: smoked salmon sandwiches and champagne.

It had felt indulgent and romantic and they had enjoyed every minute of it.

And it would, he thought with a smile, offend every one of Audrey’s tradition-loving sensibilities. Strange, really, that she and Anna should be so different and yet he loved them both so completely.

Or perhaps not so strange. Anna’s had been a quieter strength, but she had been just as bloodyminded as Audrey when she wanted. Both strong women, both intelligent, humorous and fundamentally big-hearted.

Superficial differences aside, Richard thought, there was more in common between them than it first appeared.

Still lost in contemplation and enjoying his cigar, it was some time before Richard realised that he was not alone on the terrace. Someone moving in the shadows. Senses suddenly prickling, Richard squinted into the dark.

‘Hello?’

A dark shape detached itself from the inky blackness, moved towards the windows, a figure suddenly rimmed with light.

‘Good evening, sir. I meant no harm to you; I was just going for a walk and saw all the lights. It looks a grand affair.’

Audrey was right, Richard thought, with an uncomfortable and unfamiliar feeling of unease: there was something slightly off about that young man.

John stared up at the house, his head tilted back. There was a scrappy scarf tied around his neck and it was a trick of the light, it must have been, but for a moment it looked as though it covered an open, jagged gash across his throat.

For a second, Richard found his thoughts straying to the Brigadier and his story about the ghostly soldier on the parade ground – and then gave himself a mental shaking. This was just a young man who had probably been through untold traumas in whatever conflict he had served in. Tours in Northern Ireland, probably; and an Irishman serving in the British Army would doubtless come in for a special kind of torment.

He looked frozen, Richard thought. The ragged greatcoat couldn’t offer much warmth against a rural English winter.

‘Why don’t you come inside? Have a drink and something to eat.’

Those burning eyes were turned fully to Richard’s face and John seemed to take a moment to focus. And then he smiled.

‘That’s kind of you, sir. But I’d best be on my way. I’ve got a lot to do.’ He was running something between his fingers. A glitter. It looked like one half of a large, old-fashioned locket. ‘A portrait of my true love,’ he said, noticing Richard looking at it.

‘I see.’ Richard forced a slight smile. ‘And, uh, is she … waiting … for you?’

A softness stole across his face then, and his restless fingers slowed, stopped, caressing the worn metal. ‘She is that. A terrible long time she’s been waiting for me. But I’m on my way back to her, so I am.’

‘I hope it works out for both of you,’ Richard said, with a pang of sympathy for the girl – she’d have her work cut out for her, he thought. He turned to locate an ashtray, stubbing out his cigar. ‘Look, John, this probably isn’t any of my business, but-’

He found himself addressing the chilly night air. John, it would seem, agreed with his assessment. It suddenly felt far colder than he had realised initially; the welcoming warmth of the manor was increasingly inviting. Casting one final look around the shadowed terrace, and still finding nothing, Richard stepped back into the drawing room, closing the french window firmly behind him.

His sudden ingress caught one party-goer by surprise: Marjory Frobisher gasped and then a delicate pink stained her cheeks. ‘Oh! Richard…’ She smiled up at him. ‘It’s a super party!’

‘Yes.’ The guests were entering into the spirit of a festive gathering with almost indecent enthusiasm. ‘Are you having a good time?’

‘Oh, gosh, yes. It’s like old times- Well, better than old times, really.’

He smiled at her kindly. ‘You look very pretty tonight, Marjory. New dress?’

‘Oh, this old thing…’

She plucked at the tiers of lace. It was the same dress she wore to every formal event and every time they performed the same ritual. Still, it always seemed to please her.

Marjory glanced up and the pink in her cheeks deepened. ‘Oh…’

Richard followed her glance and, with a vague sinking feeling, saw the bunch of mistletoe. He looked back down at Marjory and her slightly wistful expression. She was a sweet woman and he would always think of her as having been his first proper friend at Grantleigh. He was truly and deeply fond of her and the warmth showed in his face when he gently placed his hands on her shoulders. ‘Merry Christmas, Marjory.’

For the second time in their lives, his lips brushed hers fleetingly.

‘Oh gosh… Merry Christmas, Richard.’

‘Can I claim you for this dance?’

‘Oh! Oh…’ The small war she was fighting with herself was plainly written in her features and then her shoulders sagged slightly. ‘I promised the Brigadier.’

‘Ah well – later then.’

‘Oh yes! Absolutely!’

On the periphery of his vision Richard saw Brigadier Lemington approach and took a step back; Marjory fluttered off in a froth of lace flounces and the Brigadier’s unyielding grip.

‘Spreading comfort and joy, I see.’

Richard turned and found that Audrey had been observing the scene. Head up and a challenging glint in her eye.

‘You know me: holly in my heart.’

‘Mmm.’

He approached her and her eyebrows flickered.

‘Is your dance card full?’

‘Dance cards went out with the debutantes’ ball,’ she stated flatly.

‘I’m so lucky that I have you to teach me these things.’

‘I hope that Marjory realises that that’s the only Christmas present she’ll be getting this year.’

Richard laughed softly. ‘You know, you’re very lovely when you’re jealous.’

Audrey huffed out a breath. ‘Jealous! What on earth have I got to be jealous about?’

He caught hold of her hand, pulling her into his arms, moving them in time to the music. ‘Precisely.’

‘I- Oh, you’re impossible,’ she grumbled. The music was slow and sweet and the crush necessitated very close proximity to one another. His embrace was strong about her; she slid her arm fully around his neck. ‘You haven’t kissed me under the mistletoe.’

His eyes wandered over her face, taking in its lines. ‘I don’t need mistletoe to do that.’ And he proved it.

* * *

  
The party that year had been declared a resounding success by all concerned long before it had wound down. Exhausted and sated, happy partygoers had decanted into a small fleet of taxis. The drawing room, recently the centre of festivities, was quiet, illumination coming from one rosy lamp and the flickering firelight.

Audrey sat on the hearth rug, resting against a small bank of cushions, her skirts pooling about her. She accepted a glass of whiskey from Richard, watched as he lowered himself to sit beside her. He pulled the black bow tie undone, leaving the ends hanging loose, undid the top two buttons of his dress shirt with an air of intense relief.

‘Are you comfortable?’ she asked, all tender concern.

‘Very.’ He took a sip of his drink, savouring it’s mellow smoothness.

‘Good.’ Audrey sat up and fixed him with a determined eye. Richard returned the gaze with deep suspicion.

‘What?’

‘I want to tell you a story.’

His eyes gleamed. ‘The book’s back on your bedside table.’

Audrey suppressed a smile, trying to look stern. ‘Well, it isn’t that sort of story. It’s a ghost story.’

Richard groaned and took more of his whiskey.

‘This is part of the family history,’ she insisted. ‘And I told you: ghost stories are a Christmas tradition.’

‘I definitely prefer the last Christmas tradition you taught me.’

‘Yes, well, you can’t play Sardines with only two people.’

His eyebrows rose a fraction. ‘I’m willing to give it a go.’

Audrey let out a breath of laughter. ‘Honestly, you have a one-track mind!’

‘Would you honestly prefer it if I didn’t?’ he asked, as if he really wanted to know. ‘If so, I could always develop an interest in, say, brass rubbings. Or Etchings? How about philately- That’s stamp collecting.’

‘I know what it is,’ she responded, in freezing tones.

Richard laughed over the rim of his glass. It really was too easy to get a rise out of her – but she never looked less magnificent than when her eyes were snapping and her cheeks were bright with indignation. ‘All right. Tell me your story. I promise I’ll take it seriously.’

Audrey tweaked her skirts, the deep blue shimmering under the wavering light. ‘It’s a family history. The story is about Lady Barbara Hamilton – that’s her portrait up there.’

Richard followed the direction she was pointing and a flicker of interest crossed his face. ‘Oh, is that who she is?’ The unseeing blue eyes stared back down at him. ‘I always rather liked that portrait. She has a look of you.’

Audrey let out a breath down her nose. ‘She was an accredited beauty.’

‘Like I said: she looks like you.’

‘Flattery will get you- Well, practically everywhere,’ Audrey admitted. ‘Are you going to listen to this story?’

‘I will.’

‘And keep your hands where I can see them?’

Richard considered this and considered her. ‘That still gives me a lot of scope.’

Audrey rolled her eyes. ‘And keep you hands to yourself?’

‘Spoilsport.’ His eyes glinted at her in the firelight. ‘Go on; I’m listening.’

She folded her hands primly in her lap. ‘Lady Barbara was an heiress in her own right and extremely eligible. She was also under the protection of her cousin, Sir George fforbes-Hamilton.’

‘And where is his portrait?’

Audrey bestowed on him a smile of a sweetness that he did not trust at all. ‘That is a very good question – it’s one of the artworks you got rid of when you moved in.’

Richard’s face brightened. ‘I bet he was that frog-faced one.’

‘Yes, actually…’ Audrey recalled the portrait in question and shuddered slightly. ‘He always reminded me of Marton, to be honest. Those protruding eyes run in the family.’

‘I’m not sure I want to hear where this story is going,’ Richard declared.

‘Well, you’re still going to hear it anyway. Sir George was, by all accounts, a cruel man. A tyrant-’

‘When was all this?’

‘Sixteen-ninety-eight. Now stop interrupting.’ Audrey took a breath, collected her thoughts. ‘He wanted to marry Barbara. Not because he loved her, but because she was rich and her money would pay off his gambling debts. Barbara, however, refused: she had fallen in love with another man, a young soldier, and she wanted to marry him.

He was said to be very handsome and they would meet in secret up at Peregrine’s Folly. Eventually, they decided that the only way that they could be married was to elope.

It was Christmas Eve when Barbara got herself ready and waited for her lover to come to her. They were to meet at the folly. But they had been betrayed by one of the servants that Sir George had set to spy on Barbara. So, when her soldier arrived, Sir George’s men were waiting for him. They dragged him back to the house and forced Barbara to watch while they beat him.

Sir George demanded that he give her up, but he refused. And in the end, they cut his throat and threw his body into the well beneath the house.’

Richard choked slightly. ‘The well?’

‘Yes.’

‘You mean the well in the cellars?’

‘Yes.’

‘Here at the manor.’

‘ _Yes!_ Honestly!’ Audrey settled herself against the cushions. ‘Where was I?’

‘Your appalling ancestor had just murdered some poor sod and thrown him into our well.’

‘Right. Barbara was devastated. She was at Sir George’s mercy and he had a tame priest who would perform the marriage ceremony against her will. She broke free of her guards and ran through the manor. All of the outside doors were locked, so the only way she could go was up. She ended up on the roof. The men followed her, but she had nothing left to lose by then. They say that she had never looked more beautiful than when she faced down the man who had murdered the only man she had truly loved.’

She went to the edge of the roof. And when Sir George tried to stop her, she told him that she would haunt Grantleigh Manor until true love came here again. And then she jumped.’

Audrey took a breath, watching Richard’s face.

‘They say that every Christmas Eve, you can see her, on the roof, waiting for her true love to return.’

‘I see.’ Richard put down his glass. ‘Have you ever seen her?’

‘Well… No.’

‘No, neither have I.’

‘You’re not a fforbes-Hamilton, it probably doesn’t apply to you.’

‘Very true.’ Richard nodded, his expression serious. ‘Anyway, if the poor girl has been floating about all these years she’s probably been able to … move on, now.’

‘Oh?’

Richard tilted his head slightly. ‘You did say she was supposed to haunt the manor until – what was it, true love? – returned…’

Audrey’s blue eyes glimmered. ‘You think we’re true love, do you?’

‘So much so that I’m even sold on your ghost story.’ He unfolded himself, moved towards her, took one of her hands between his. The wide sleeves were buttoned tight at the wrist. He slid the buttons through the tight bindings, exposing a patch of smooth skin on the inside of her wrist. He pressed his lips there and Audrey felt a jolt through her. ‘Now. How about that game of Sardines?’


	5. Chapter Five

Audrey woke suddenly, nerves jangling, her skin clammy. The bedclothes felt horribly heavy, pressing down on her. It wasn’t that which had woken her.

She pushed herself up, listening.

A creak. In the corridor outside the bedroom. They had houseguests, of course… But none of them were roomed along this corridor and there was no earthly reason why anyone should be wandering along it.

‘Richard.’ Her eyes fixed on the door, as though that would help her see through it, she reached out, hand closing around his shoulder, and shook him.

There were the boys, of course. Tom and Jamie and their avowed intention to uncover all of Grantleigh’s secret places. No harm in that, particularly.

‘Richard!’

He seemed unconscious, never mind asleep. Which in itself was strange: Audrey had soon learned that out of the two of them, Richard was the lighter sleeper. If either were to be woken by unaccustomed noises, it was most likely to be him.

Using both hands, Audrey shook him harder, almost lifting his head off the pillow.

Nothing.

Still a creaking.

The boys were free to explore, but it was the middle of the night and there were still areas of the manor that were not entirely safe. If they were to stumble into – or off – something or somewhere they shouldn’t…

She made a final, despairing, attempt at rousing Richard. His breathing was deep and regular but there was no flicker, not the slightest indication that he would be abandoning the arms of Morpheus anytime soon. Muttering curses in the names of DeVere, Thuyssen and all who sailed in them, Audrey pushed back the covers, grabbed her robe and headed towards the door.

The corridor was pitch dark and the cold air bit her cheeks. It came as a shock, numbing; Audrey shivered against the chill, wishing she had put on her warmer dressing gown.

She stood peering into the darkness, realised that she was holding her breath. The house was preternaturally quiet- No, not the house, the signs of life within the house. She could hear her own heartbeat thudding in her ears. And around her the ancient walls of Grantleigh Manor seemed to shudder, the whole house creaking, down through the foundations and into the very earth.

Something on the periphery of her vision. She turned her head, saw nothing, but she _knew_ that something had been there. 

Audrey tried to moisten lips that had suddenly become paper-dry. ‘Tom? Jamie?’ Her voice was a croak, shaking.

A brush against her ears, a voice, or voices, so low that she couldn’t make out words but she could hear the anguish, feel it. Aching sadness that pulled on her like a stone. A cry in the night, reverberating through the fabric of the house until every brick sang with it, coloured with despair.

Her breath was frosting on the air. She braced herself against a wall and it was icy to the touch, almost slimy, as though everything was damp.

More than anything she wanted to return to her bed, to the reassuring warmth of Richard’s solid frame, bury herself in his arms and laugh at her own nightmares in the morning.

She inched along the corridor, a compunction stronger than the fear that choked the breath in her throat. It was ridiculous, she told herself fiercely; this was her own home, she knew every part of it. There was nothing to be afraid of.

But she was afraid. She felt cold tendrils of fear coil around her spine and a sickening feeling in the pit of her stomach.

Audrey reached the end of the corridor and the alcove there. She glanced out of the window and shivered. The rising mist had thickened, obscuring everything that was more than a few feet beyond the manor; it was as though they had been cut off from every other living soul on earth. End of the world weather, Mrs Poo called it.

Set into the alcove’s deeper recesses was a door that led up to the roof. It was locked, bolted, with no sign of disturbance. Audrey let out a shaky breath, turned away from it and then there was a rush, footsteps echoing, something pushed her back and she stumbled, feeling a body collide with hers and she fell back, bracing herself against the wall for support.

There was no one there. She was entirely alone.

But as certain as she was of that, she was certain that something, or someone, had just gone through that locked door.

It was also ridiculous that she should even think of drawing back the stiff bolts and turning the key in the lock. But she did it. She couldn’t stop. The hinges, in need of oiling, screeched tortuously when she pulled the door open.

The stone steps leading up were slippery with cold. Audrey grasped the iron railing to keep her balance, gasped as the cold sent a shock up through her arm like a pain. Higher, ever higher, until she reached the low door at the top of the stairs. The bolts were even stiffer than those below, bruising her hands, tearing her nails as she pushed them back. Then she pushed the door open and stepped up onto the roof.

The view was normally spectacular, the whole of the estate laid out in all directions. Everything was lost in the sea of mist. Audrey felt it damp against her cheek. Dead leaves crunched underfoot as she took a few uncertain steps forwards, rounding the solid bulk of a chimney and then she saw the figure standing close to the edge.

‘Oh God!’

She knew the face that turned to her, recognised it from seeing the family portraits on the walls of Grantleigh her whole life.

Dark blonde hair tumbled around slender shoulders and the blue eyes that in life had been admired for their beauty and lustre were now full of rage and anguish.

She did not look the way that a ghost was supposed to look: she was not palely glowing in the moonlight; she was not wraithlike as though conjured from the mist that rose about them. She was anger and vengeance and terrifyingly corporeal.

A slight smile seemed to touch her lips when her eyes found Audrey’s.

‘You are damned. All of you.’

Audrey pressed herself back against the brickwork, feeling her knees give under her. And tried to tell herself that this was a nightmare, to will herself awake-

‘Audrey!’

A hand closed around her arm and she let out a yelp, stared wildly.

‘Richard! Oh, I’ve never been so glad to see anyone in my life!’ She flung her arms around him, holding tight, felt his embrace and buried her face in his chest, breathing him in, feeling his blissful, life-giving warmth.

‘What in God’s name are you doing up here?’

Audrey raised her face to his, her voice shaky. ‘How did you know I was here?’

His face still looked slightly flushed with sleep, his hair ruffled. He hadn’t even bothered with a dressing gown. ‘I heard you calling me.’ He frowned slightly, uncertainty taking hold, and then his gaze moved past her. ‘What the-’

‘It’s her. It’s Lady Barbara.’

‘Oh, nonsense,’ Richard said firmly, taking hold of both Audrey’s hands in his. ‘She’s probably just some party crasher.’ He took a step forward. ‘Look, er, whoever you are… Hello? Please, come away from-’

Audrey felt him suck in a breath when the blonde head turned again to face him and she knew that he recognised her.

‘You… You should come back inside,’ he finished weakly.

Lady Barbara Hamilton had been an imperious beauty and even three-hundred years after she had thrown herself from the roof of her ancestral home, her ghost, or shade, or whatever it was that remained of her still held a regal presence. But when her gaze fell on Richard DeVere, something in her face changed: emotions too fleeting to grasp chased across her features. Her fingers moved to the pedant at her throat: one half of a locket, held on a silk ribbon.

It was almost like a moment of recognition, Audrey thought. And then contempt chilled her expression again.

‘You know nothing of love, none of you. You don’t know what it means. You never will – I’ll make sure of that.’ Her voice rose. ‘I will haunt this place!’

‘It’s all right now, Babs.’

Audrey started convulsively, felt Richard’s arms tighten around her.

The new voice, with its Irish lilt, had come from behind them.

His hair, the worn and ragged greatcoat, all of his clothes were wet. There was water pooling about his feet. The scarf hung loose, showing the gash that had opened his throat, blood inky and glistening under the moonlight.

‘It’s all right,’ he said again.

Poised on the edge of the roof, her body already angling towards the leap that she had made so many times before, Barbara stopped, looked back. Confusion clouded her face; her eyes didn’t seem to quite focus, and then a shudder ran through her.

‘John?’

He smiled at her, took a step forward and brought with him the smell of damp and decay.

Instinctively, Richard and Audrey pulled themselves back. Audrey clutched Richard’s arm.

‘Richard, do something!’

‘What do you want me to do – exorcise them?’

‘Oh, so _now_ you believe in ghosts!’

Richard looked at her witheringly. ‘This is not really the time!’

Apparently oblivious to their living observers, the ill-fated lovers studied one another. Something of the wildness in Barbara’s face receded, her expression softening.

‘I watched you die.’ Her voice, clear and light, rose gently on the night air.

‘I know, darlin’. But I said I’d come back for you.’

‘I waited… Such an age I have waited…’

‘I know. And I’m sorry for that. Took a lot longer than I thought and if I didn’t keep losing my way and ending up back where I started.’

‘It was you leaving puddles on my floor!’ Audrey glared at him, indignant.

‘Audrey…’ Richard closed his eyes for a moment.

John turned to them and inclined his head slightly. ‘That it was, ma’am. I’m afraid I couldn’t help it. I’m greatly obliged to both of you – I would have been lost forever if it hadn’t been for you.’

He turned back towards Barbara, took another step closer to her. ‘But I’m here now Babs; and we can finally go, just like we said we would.’

She shook her head slightly. ‘I said I would never leave here.’

John’s eyes widened. ‘Now there’s a fine thing! All that time I spent trying to get out of that damned well and now that I’ve made it, you want us to stay! Typical.’

A smile touched her lips. ‘You always were such an idiot.’

‘But do you love me still?’

‘Always!’

It was, Richard thought, rather sweet. Once you got past the fact that the declarations of love were being made by two people who had suffered particularly unpleasant deaths nearly three hundred years earlier.

And it stood to reason, really, that the ghosts of Grantleigh Manor should express their devotion through insults as much as through endearments.

‘Then come with me now. You don’t need to stay here anymore – things have changed now.’

Barbara’s eyes moved from his face to where Audrey and Richard stood and she studied them for a long moment. Her head slightly on one side, a quizzical expression.

And then she smiled. Radiant. It transformed her face.

John held out his hands to her. ‘Come on now, Babs. It’s time we were on our way.’

Audrey felt her breath catch as she watched them, tensed as she waited, watching the graceful figure that still stood at the very edge of the roof. She felt Richard’s arm tighten about her, knew that he was willing Barbara to take the steps towards those reaching hands just as much as she.

Close on three hundred years in the cold and the dark, trapped in misery and anguish. And all of it gone, as easily as the mist would dissipate in the morning sun.

Was it just her imagination, Audrey wondered, or were they actually glowing faintly as they moved towards one another? She blinked. It had to be her eyes.

Two pairs of hands met, fingers lacing together.

Audrey blinked again. It wasn’t her eyes. They really were glowing, a warm light bright against the night. Brighter and still brighter, until both Audrey and Richard shut their eyes against the glare.

When they opened them again, they were alone.


	6. Chapter Six

_25 December_

Richard scrubbed at his face, his eyes gritty with lack of sleep. ‘The mist’s lifted.’ He let go of the filmy curtain; it dropped back into place. ‘It looks like it’s going to be a nice day.’

Behind him, Audrey stirred. ‘Hm? What did you say?’

Richard looked back at her and smiled. ‘Sorry. I didn’t realise you were asleep.’

‘I was not asleep,’ Audrey started with great dignity, arranging herself against the cushions. ‘I was just resting my eyes.’

‘Ah.’ Richard nodded wisely. ‘Of course.’

After their midnight excursion to the roof, and still in a state of somewhat frozen shock, Audrey had suggested that they warm themselves up with a drink. Richard had readily concurred: although, where Audrey had meant cocoa, Richard had meant whiskey and plenty of it.

In the end they had compromised and had both.

What few hours remained of the night had been passed in the drawing room, attempting to make sense of what had happened. Which brought them to the early hours of Christmas morning.

Audrey ran her hands through her hair, smoothing it away from her face. The fire had been built up again, flames dancing, and she leaned towards its glow. She stretched out her arms, feeling the kinks in her shoulders and neck from where she had been dozing - _resting her eyes!-_ on the sofa. The air still held a chill despite the fire and she pulled the soft throw closer about her. She looked at Richard, his tall frame silhouetted against the window, and something in his expression, a seriousness behind his eyes, caught her.

‘What are you thinking about?’ she asked softly.

‘Not much.’ He sat beside her, picked up one of the mugs, regarded the cold remnants, grimaced, and put it back down. Audrey still watched him and he let out a breath lightly. ‘I was thinking that we probably all carry ghosts with us, one way or another.’

‘Oh.’ She nodded slightly, fidgeting with the fringing on the blanket. ‘You were thinking about Anna. You must still miss her.’

His eyebrows rose fractionally. Audrey returned his gaze levelly. ‘Richard, if you haven’t realised it by now, I am not the type who thinks that people can only ever be in love with one person in their whole lives.’

‘I know.’ He took her hand, thumb stroking the smooth skin. ‘I think I am extraordinarily lucky to have had two great loves in my life. Most people don’t get one.’

‘You’re a terrible show-off.’

He laughed and kissed her.

‘You’re right, there is probably part of me that will always miss Anna. It’s more missing that she isn’t in the world, not that she isn’t with me…’ He shook his head. ‘But it wasn’t her I was thinking about. I was thinking about my father.’

A face she had seen in photographs, a few things that Maria had told her. A strong man. A good man. Qualities that had been passed down to his son. ‘You never really talk about him.’

‘Well… I don’t really remember him, to be honest. Riding on his shoulders through market stalls, that’s about the only clear memory I have.’

‘But you loved him?’

Richard looked at her, surprised. ‘Of course I did; he was my father. I just wish that I could have known him. It’s easy to imagine what the people you’ve known would say or think, but when the only things you know are so vague, or handed down from someone else’s memories… I wonder what he would have thought of me.’

Audrey laced her fingers through his. ‘He would have been very proud,’ she said firmly.

‘That’s what mother always says.’

‘And she’s very wise.’

‘She always says that, too.’

‘Richard…’ Audrey laughed, laid her head on his shoulder. He raised his free hand, ran fingers through her hair. He carried so much, she thought. He had done so much, endured, survived, built so much and yet he still was generous, kind, playful, curious about the world. And she wanted so badly to be the person to carry him, to give him as much joy as he brought her. She sighed. ‘It was supposed to be a perfect Christmas.’

‘And it is. This is definitely the most exciting Christmas I’ve ever spent. I don’t know how you’ll top it.’

Audrey sat up, regarded him reproachfully. ‘Richard, be serious!’

‘I am!’ His eyes were dancing again. ‘You said ghost stories were a tradition, and then we lived through one. I’ll be expecting nothing less than the Ghosts of Christmases Past, Present and Future next year.’

She shuddered. ‘I never want to hear another ghost story as long as I live.’ A pause. ‘Do you think we should tell everyone about it?’

‘No… God, no! Apart from the fact that no-one would believe us, if mother hears about it, nothing short of the whole of the Vatican descending on Grantleigh with bell, book and candle would satisfy her. We’d never hear the end of it. And if you say one word to her, I won’t speak to you for a week.’

‘That’s not much of a punishment.’

‘Two weeks.’

She looked at him.

‘I won’t give you your Christmas present.’

‘She won’t hear it from me,’ Audrey said promptly.

Richard grinned at her. A dark comma of hair fell across his forehead and Audrey smoothed it back, trailing her fingers down his cheek.

‘They’ll all be down soon, demanding food and presents – and that’s just Sonia.’

Audrey tilted her head. ‘Does she know how you talk about her behind her back?’

‘Of course not: she’d be astonished by my restraint. I say much worse things to her face.’ He pressed his lips against her fingertips, his moustache soft against her skin.

Audrey’s face quivered with amusement and then clouded with sudden suspicion. ‘What do you say about me behind my back?’

‘Ah, now, that would be telling.’

‘Telling what?’

He unfolded himself from the sofa. ‘I think I can hear the hordes starting their descent.’

‘Richard? Telling _what_?’

* * *

In the excited buzz of Christmas morning, it was almost possible to believe that the events of the previous night had not occurred. Except that the concept of a shared dream (or nightmare) somehow seemed even more unbelievable than a nocturnal rendezvous with ghosts from the past.

Richard watched the proceedings with an odd sense of detachment. He had been mobbed by his nephews, cried on by his mother – ‘ _Just like Christmases at home!’_ which was a blatant untruth, no matter which home she was talking about – and examined very beadily by Sonia.

‘Are you all right?’

‘Fine.’

‘You don’t look fine. Don’t tell me you and Audrey have had a fight.’

‘Why would we have had a fight?’

Sonia sipped her coffee. ‘I don’t know: it depends on what you’ve done.’

‘I haven’t done anything!’

‘Oh…’ She nodded sympathetically. ‘Maybe that’s why you had a fight.’

‘We haven’t-’ Richard breathed heavily down his nose. ‘It was just a disturbed night.’

Her eyes sparkled over the rim of her cup. ‘Don’t tell me – you saw one of the Grantleigh ghosts!’ When he stared at her, wordless, Sonia huffed out a breath and rolled her eyes. ‘That was a joke. What is wrong with you today- Jamie! Don’t do that…’

Grateful to his irrepressible nephew, Richard slipped away, engrossed himself with straightening ornaments on the tree. And then his hands stopped and he looked at the delicate object suspended from one of the branches. He blinked, but it was still there. His eyes found Audrey across the room and what she saw in his face brought her to his side.

‘What’s the matter?’

‘Look.’

Amongst the baubles, lights and tinsel, against the dark green needles, an old fashioned locket, attached to a fine silk ribbon, hung from one of the branches. Audrey raised a hand, felt a tremor through her fingers, pulled them back as though they had been burnt and scolded herself for cowardice. Richard lifted it off the branch carefully. The once-patterned metal had been worn smooth on both sides, the gold deep and old and heavy. The silk ribbon was slightly frayed. He ran a thumbnail along the groove and opened the locket.

The portraits inside faced one another. The girl with laughing sapphire eyes and a cloud of honey-blonde hair. The man darkly handsome, humour and mischief in his face.

He closed the locket and then, on impulse, raised the ends of its ribbon and tied it around Audrey’s neck. Her fingers touched it gently where it rested.

‘Do you think they’re at peace now?’ Her face was anxious.

‘I don’t know… But I suppose there’s one way to make sure.’

* * *

‘I’m still not entirely clear about what it is that you want me to do.’

The rector’s uncertain smile flickered across his face.

‘Just a few prayers, Rector,’ Richard replied, turning the key in a very stiff lock.

‘In the cellar?’

‘Mm.’

The rector glanced at Audrey and she smiled encouragingly – and with her usual air that suggested that any questioning of words or deeds was not going to be tolerated.

It had been very kind, of course, of Richard and Audrey to invite him to the manor for the Christmas Day meal; and when Richard had taken him to one side after the morning service with a special request, it had never occurred to him to refuse.

He would not refuse any request of Richard DeVere’s, anyway. After all, who else was going to pay for the restoration of the church bells?

Even so, this was not quite what he had envisioned himself doing and he watched with growing apprehension as Richard succeeded at turning the key and then pushed against the door that showed no signs of giving.

It _had_ been painted shut, Richard thought grimly, the resistance evident.

‘Do you need a crowbar?’ Audrey asked helpfully.

Richard applied his shoulder to the door and it opened in a creaking shower of splinters and fragments of paint.

‘Apparently not,’ Audrey murmured. The rector emitted a faint squeaking sound.

A blast of frigid air greeted them. Richard flicked a switch and a sickly light emanated from the gloom. ‘Looks like most of the bulbs have gone. Good thing you brought the torches,’ he said to Audrey.

‘Always be prepared,’ she replied crisply. ‘Isn’t that right, Rector?’

‘Hm? Oh, er, yes…’ He took the torch she held out to him and then followed as Richard led the way down into the cellars, Audrey close behind.

It was a damp cold that greeted them. Mould on the walls and a desolate sense of decay. It was more than chilled air and mildew: it felt like descending into an open grave. ‘What, um-’ He clutched the railing, feeling his feet slipping on the very uncertain steps leading down. ‘What sort of prayers is it you want?’

Richard’s voice floated up from the gloom. ‘Prayers for the dead.’

‘Ah.’

‘Don’t worry, Rector,’ Audrey said, her tone as brisk as ever, ‘it isn’t an exorcism.’

That was not particularly comforting, he thought, carefully picking his way down the stone steps. A few electric bulbs gave off a miserly glow, barely making a dent in the smothering darkness. Swinging torchlight cut through, showing crumbling brickwork and stained, flaking whitewash. All of the fforbes-Hamilton ancestors were either in the churchyard or the crypt – as Audrey could (and would) tirelessly recount. He was certain that it could not be her idea to have prayers for the dead recited in a cellar that had not, judging by appearances, been used for decades – if not centuries. Which meant it must be Richard who wanted it done. And he had always seemed to be such a reasonable, straightforward sort of man…

Of course, the rector reflected, Richard DeVere was a Catholic, after all, and the Roman church did have a rather … flamboyant … approach to faith. He recalled all of the statues and relics of various saints in Mrs Polouvicka’s sitting room with resignation; growing up surrounded by all of that would make any man susceptible to the more superstitious aspects of religious life.

They reached the bottom.

‘This looks like it,’ Richard said, shining his torch at a space in the middle of the floor.

‘Is- Is that a well?’ The rector peered at it.

Heavy wooden covers were bolted into place with iron bars and the lock in the centre had been sealed with wax. The fforbes-Hamilton coat of arms was still clearly visible. The rector shivered, wishing he still had his greatcoat and scarf.

And wishing even more, if he were honest, that he hadn’t accepted this invitation.

‘Right,’ Richard said, all business, ‘over to you, Rector.’

He stared about and then looked at the two expectant faces. ‘You want me to say the prayers…’ He gestured with helpless uncertainty.

‘Over the well,’ Richard confirmed. ‘Do you need something? Candles? Holy water?’

‘Where are we going to get holy water from?’ Audrey demanded.

‘I don’t need holy water,’ the rector said, his voice wavering slightly.

‘Will this take very long?’

‘Audrey!’ Richard nudged her reproachfully.

She raised one eyebrow at him. ‘Mrs Beecham is very particular about her timings.’

‘It won’t take long!’ He pulled the prayer book out of his pocket, rifled through the pages until he found the required form. He cleared his throat, glanced once again at his hosts with the forlorn hope that they would call an end to what was a very unfunny practical joke, realised that they weren’t and so started to read. ‘Almighty and eternal God…’

It wasn’t much of a resting place, Audrey thought, staring at the wood and iron that were the markers for John’s watery grave. She still didn’t even know what his last name had been. It had always just been a romantic story when she was growing up and there was still an inherent romance in a couple whose devotion to one another had survived death.

But she hadn’t given much thought to the reality of it: to a man who refused to give up his beloved even under torture; to a woman – half out of her mind with grief, no doubt, but still – who would sooner throw herself to her death than submit to marriage with a man she didn’t love.

Audrey hadn’t just submitted to such a marriage, she had arranged it for herself. Admittedly, with her father’s pronouncements ringing in her ears that Grantleigh should pass down a direct line of fforbes-Hamiltons by any means necessary. A catechism she had learned and adhered to far more closely than she had to any religion. It had been a great blow to him that she had been a daughter and not a son. Not that he had ever said it, not to her face, but it had always been there. Had she been the son he had so clearly wanted, would he have loved his child better? Been more proud?

If Richard were still running the same fruit stall that he had started out on, Maria Polouvicka would doubtless still be as proud of him as she was today. It was who he was, not what he was that mattered to her. Surely, that was all that should matter to anyone.

Her own parents had not exactly given her a model for what a happy marriage should look like. They had had no more interest in one another than they had in her. Her grandparents? Had any of her family, stretching back through the decades, had anything that resembled a happy married life? She had simply followed the examples set and done what all her family had done: what was expected of her.

And Grantleigh had still crumbled about her, despite her best efforts.

It could have been worse. It wasn’t as though Marton had been a cruel man, just an inadequate one. Weak, spineless, self-absorbed. And he could be petty, vindictive even.

All those lonely, loveless years.

Happiness was for other people. Tradition and duty were enough – she had told herself that so often that she had almost managed to make herself believe it entirely.

But not so entirely that her poor neglected heart hadn’t fluttered with the sudden and unexpected hope at the offer of kindness, friendship, love that had come with those warm brown eyes and ready smile.

She had never hated anyone as much as she had hated Marton when she had lost Grantleigh. But if he hadn’t been so incompetent (and downright dishonest), if she hadn’t had to lose the thing she had thought that she valued most in all of the world, she would probably never have met the one person she had come to love more than anything in the world.

In the end, she felt a vague gratitude to Marton fforbes-Hamilton. Another ghost laid to rest.

Audrey blinked rapidly, turned her face into Richard’s shoulder and his arm tightened around her. A hand under her chin, he raised her face to his, thumbed the tears away from her cheeks.

‘There’s no need for that,’ he said softly. ‘Everything’s all right.’

Audrey raised a slightly watery smile. ‘I love you, Richard DeVere.’

His eyes creased. ‘I know. I love you, too.’

‘…May his soul and the souls of all the departed, through the mercy of God, rest in peace. Amen.’

The rector closed the prayer book firmly and with a sense of relief; he looked up at Richard and Audrey and smiled slightly. There was something truly touching seeing them together, an unguarded moment with her head on his shoulder and his arm close about her. They looked strong together. Right. He had done his duty by the dead; he put the book back into his pocket and silently offered up a blessing on the living.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know - it isn’t a very good story. But thank you very much to everyone who stuck with it and I hope that you found some bits to enjoy.


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